


Upon a Falling Star

by Ceia



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Angst, End of the World, F/M, First Kiss, implied major character death
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-28
Updated: 2018-07-28
Packaged: 2019-06-17 15:51:15
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,250
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15464844
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ceia/pseuds/Ceia
Summary: He can’t even be angry about this being the end, not really, because at least he’s getting to spend it with her.





	Upon a Falling Star

**Author's Note:**

> Written for a prompt on [Tumblr](https://superceia.tumblr.com/post/176345555065/send-me-a-ship-and-a-number-and-i-will-write-a), sent to me by [Muppet!](http://one-irradiated-muppet.tumblr.com/)

When Junkrat comes to again he’s instantly lucid, like his body knows what’s about to happen and wants to spare him the haze so he can get the most out of his final minutes. He winces, pushing his chest up from the ground, and glances around to see what’s left of this hellhole now that he’s awake.

Meteors. Who’da thought it. All those years spent fighting and hating seem humiliating when all it takes is a few rocks from space to come crashing down and destroy everything. Not even Overwatch—noble, peacekeeping Overwatch —could save them all from this.

“Well,” Junkrat says, sighing. “S’pose we had a pretty solid run, eh?”

Not that he was expecting her to, but Mercy doesn’t acknowledge him. He’s never seen her so still before. Used to her flitting around the battlefield like a songbird, all wings and hair and perfume breezing past him. But here, now, she’s a stone carving, on her hands and knees with no sign of her staff anywhere. Yellow fragments of her wings are scattered around them and her suit is wrecked, torn all over. The skin he can see is the dark brown of dried blood, and her hair is half out of its ponytail, a scraggy mess of blonde over her shoulders and back.

Looks like his pegleg has completely blown off. His arm’s surprisingly alright though, only missing a couple of fingers and the biggest plate off the chassis, so Junkrat is able to drag himself over to her using the strength in his biceps and shoulders, trailing his long body through the rubble. Mercy doesn’t look at him, doesn’t react to his presence at all even though they’re the last ones left. She’s too busy staring over the ledge of this cliff. Settling by her side Junkrat looks over it with her, at the miles and miles of wasteland breaking up in front of them, cracking as the earth splits open.

Christ, what a fucking mess. No way outta this one. Still, it was gonna happen at some point, so. May as well be here, like this, he supposes. Bloody brilliant way of going out too, in a sky of fire and a sea of breaking earth. Spectacular, really.

He pats her shoulder.

“Probably best not look anymore, Merc, it ain’t gonna get any—”

“There must be something we can do,” she says, her voice trembling. “There—there has to be. This can’t.”

Mercy finally looks at him, that beautiful face of hers spattered all over with blood and dirt.

“This can’t be the end,” she whispers, holding his gaze but shaking her head. Junkrat didn’t think there’d be a sight more hopeless and depressing than the world ending around them, but Mercy’s eyes are giving this apocalypse a decent run for its money, full of tears and pleading for an answer he can’t give.

He can’t even be angry about this being the end, not really, because at least he’s getting to spend it with her. In fact, Junkrat is the only one who has that privilege now that the rest of them are dead, spared from having to wait for these final seconds to tick down. It won’t be long before they’ll be dead too, dwindling sand in this hourglass of stolen time.

Junkrat smiles sadly at Mercy, doing something he’s never had the courage to do before in reaching out to stroke her face. He brushes that lovely hair behind her ear so he can get a good look at her. Mercy doesn’t flinch, barely reacts even to this, though some of the tears spill over now that her eyes have gone a little wider.

Might as well make the most of it.

Should’ve done this a long time ago, Junkrat thinks, says, isn’t sure what he’s thinking and what he’s saying now that his lips are on hers. None of it matters anyway. 

Fuck, it feels so unbelievably good to finally kiss her.

“What are you—” Mercy says, before giving a startled  _mph!_  against his mouth as he kisses her again, harder this time. When she pushes back on him a small spark of something ignites inside his chest, a burst of hope Mercy is providing by feeling there’s enough time to even marginally resist him.

Then she seems to realise the futility of everything and gives up, grabs Junkrat’s shoulders and drags him down on top of her. Mercy sobs against his mouth when she does, like she’s finally admitting to herself that this is the end, that this is what they’ve been reduced to. The base human need to touch and be touched. The last reminder that they’re both still alive, somehow.

Junkrat kisses her hungrily, selfishly, though distracting her from what’s going on around them is probably the most selfless thing he could do. Being on top of her like this and having her cling onto him makes heat surge through him, that powerful feeling of dominance a gift she’s offering in kind. The air smells of sulphur, of black-hot death, but he can still smell her, smell that perfume he’s so familiar with from all the times they’ve worked together. The closest he ever came to kissing Mercy before now was that night in the rec-room months ago, when they were drunk and he was clumsily whispering in her ear.

“Wish I’d kissed ya back then,” Junkrat says, panting it over her lips. Mercy’s chest is heaving, her blonde eyelashes fluttering as she looks over his face.

“I wish you had too,” she says, and even though she probably doesn’t mean it Junkrat is grateful for it anyway, for the nervous laugh she’s allowed them to share in this moment because of it.

She looks past him, at the sky falling down above them. He can see the flare of fear in her eyes, probably noticing more meteors coming down—and that won’t do, that won’t do at all, because eyes as clear and blue as Mercy’s should reflect nothing but stars now that he’s got her beneath them. Junkrat rolls them over, pulls that fragile body of hers with a rough urgency in a final effort to shield her from the reality of what’s happening. She goes easily anyway as he tugs her, until he’s on his back and she’s straddling him instead, her slender gloved hands splayed either side of his head.

“Junkrat,” Mercy says, a choked out breath where she’s about to start crying again. That won’t do either, so he reaches with his left hand to trail his grubby fingers over the soft hair at the back of her neck. Junkrat can’t help grinning at how delicate and smooth the hair is there, grateful to feel it with his flesh fingers, a small treasure he’s found in the midst of all this chaos. The last treasure he’ll ever find, actually. It’s a surprisingly comforting thought. Something rarer and more precious than gold, something that will outlast everything he ever stole. His final memory—touching the preserved, featherlight hair on the back of Mercy’s neck.

Light is coming towards them, something bright that’s haloing her from behind. Mercy can probably see it in his eyes, judging by the way hers widen, stricken with fear again. Junkrat cups her face to stop her from looking around at it, at the brightness getting brighter, closer, searing through the sky.

“C’mon, give us one for the road,” he says, grinning as drags her down to meet him, again.


End file.
